


it's not the color i came in

by nezstorm



Series: it's not the color i came in [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allergies, Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Library, Angst, Asexual Stiles Stilinski, Asexuality, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Food, Good Peter Hale, Humor, Lekking, Librarian Stiles, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Misunderstandings, Omega Stiles Stilinski, courting, sex repulsed character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 18:58:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15443673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/pseuds/nezstorm
Summary: Stiles is a bit of an anomaly among the Omegas he knows, or everyone on the spectrum really.For him, heats are about comfort and safety, and not at all about sex.





	it's not the color i came in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saintrenee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintrenee/gifts).



> saintrenee asked me to put it back up.

Stiles wakes up on Wednesday with the feeling that he shouldn’t bother getting up today at all. He swats at his alarm, and flops to lie on his back, limbs spread wide on the sheets.

 

His heat is coming on early.

 

There’s a slight itch right beneath his skin, his head a bit too heavy and thoughts hazy. He’s sweating even though it’s February and the room is quite cool. It’s all just about the same as suffering from a cold feels like, in the way that he’ll pop a pill and ignore it for the whole week that it lasts.

 

But the one thing that makes it different from being sick is all that really matters to the outside world. 

 

He considers calling in to work and letting his boss know what’s up, get a few days off and spend them curled up in bed with a book or a new game. He’s got plenty of both waiting for him to have a free moment. But they already have an employee on leave and Stiles absolutely hates the thought that there wouldn’t be anyone at the library to stand in for him to do the reading hour with the kids. So he sighs and rolls out of bed, and trudges dejectedly into the shower.

 

Ein doesn’t even stir from his spot at the foot of the bed, completely ignorant to Stiles’ suffering. It’s moments like these that make Stiles wish he was a corgi as well. 

 

-

 

He usually walks to work, the library is just half an hour away from his apartment, but it would be a bit risky to do so today, so he takes the Jeep instead. Only, he’s low on gas. 

 

Stiles almost bashes his head against the steering wheel in frustration. 

 

Of course. 

 

He’s  _ this  _ close to just giving up and going back to bed to cuddle up with his dog. But he takes a few deep breaths and starts the engine.

 

He survived high school, the hormonal teenager-filled hell that it was. He can do this. Even if it means driving to the self-service gas station all the way across town.

 

Kira smiles at him brightly when he walks through the library door with only a minute to spare, but before she can open her mouth to greet him she takes a deep breath and the fond expression on her face fades a bit. Stiles gives her kudos for still maintaining a semi-authentic smile, though. This is why he likes her.

 

At least she’s an Omega like him, and a bound one too. She only gets a hint of the pheromones he’s exuding.

 

“I know,” he tells her as he slips behind the counter, heading for his preferred desk. He drops his next to his chair and takes a moment to look around, glad that there aren’t many patrons around for now. He can only hope it’ll stay like that.

 

“It came on early,” he tells Kira as he drops dejectedly into his chair. “I wasn’t due till mid-March and Isaac is down with the flu.”

 

“Well, there aren’t that many single Alphas that come around here,” Kira tells him in a way of lightening his mood, “Maybe we’ll get off easy. And I can always take over if any of them get a bit excessive.”

 

Her smile is sharp and her eyes glint dangerously, like she’s daring anyone to cause trouble in their library, and this is exactly why she’s one of Stiles’ best friends.

 

Stiles gets up and swoops her into a hug.

 

“Lunch is on me this week,” he promises, then releases her so he can wink at her. “Now let’s see how many kids will try to sneak into the erotica section today.”

 

\--

 

Stiles is a bit of an anomaly among the Omegas he knows, or everyone on the spectrum really. He doesn’t experience proper heats, not the way others do. 

 

He gets these low burn, simmering ones that he can easily ignore or just deal with on his own if it gets too much, but they’re nowhere near as incapacitating as the ones Omegas normally have. He doesn’t have to hole himself up in his room with a week’s supply of lube and a ridged dildo to ride, doesn’t become feverish with want, doesn’t find himself thinking longingly about knots.

 

He nests, yes, likes to spend that time alone with a pile of blankets, his puppy, and a few choice TV shows. 

 

For him, heats are about comfort and safety, and not at all about sex. 

 

He isn’t broken, but sometimes he still feels that way. Because as much as he doesn’t want it, his body still releases pheromones and makes it obvious for all the unbound Alphas that he’s ripe for the picking. 

 

They’re rarely aggressive with their need to impress him, but they fawn over him like they do around any other Omega in heat, and as nice as it is to have someone catering to your needs it can also be a bit problematic. 

 

They never want to hear that no matter how hard they try they won’t get into his pants--don’t believe him when he says he doesn’t want to have sex at all. It only makes them try harder to win him over, buy his affection. Until Stiles’ heat passes and they’re left stranded with no trophy to show off. 

 

Stiles has had years to come to terms with how his body operates, with its wants and needs. He’s a researcher, he likes knowing things and learning about himself was one of the first steps he took. He’s not a virgin, and while both he and the other party got off, he still didn’t see the appeal of sex. In fact, Stiles gets queasy just thinking about some Alpha mounting him; he's not into that and he made peace with the thought of spending his life alone. He’s perfectly fine taking care of his dad and hanging out with Scott and Kira, his best friends: he has them and he has Ein. He’s happy enough. 

 

Even if it makes other people pity him and see him as broken. 

 

\--

 

Stiles is known at the library for his reading hours, where he gets to do all the voices and make all the kids giggle, but his specialization is the mythology and folklore section. The first one is something he never thought he’d enjoy, but now finds himself looking forward to. The smiles on all the little, chubby faces always make his day better. The latter is a result of his own personal interests that had him major in folklore in the first place. 

 

He’s always found it intriguing, the variety of myths and legends various cultures came up with, their rituals and beliefs, the similarities and differences between them. He uses his free moments at the library to search through the tomes and journals, has his own little research going that might someday lead to a book or two being written. Another thing he enjoys about being a source of reference for patrons looking for particular things in his section are the people that come to him for help.

 

Because right next to the erotica section, folklore and mythology get the most interesting questions. Along with all the skeevy characters that appear, of course. 

 

Last week’s favorite was a man who quite seriously asked him if he knew of any books on centaur mating habits, especially centaur-human mixed ones. 

 

"I’m wondering about the mechanics of having sex with one. I mean, could you fuck one and not get kicked in the nuts? That's a pretty important part of the question."

 

Followed by: "It's okay, I'm a writer."

 

Stiles might or might not have refused to answer the question unless he got credited in the book.

 

What can he say, he fully supports sex stories that incorporate mythological creatures, even if he doesn’t enjoy sex himself. 

 

Today though, he’d like to avoid those sort of discussions, if only because they might invite unwanted advances. He’s more than glad to help a college girl find her share of books on Japanese demons for her dissertation, and even happier to argue the origin of the word ‘ _ witch’ _ . It gets him by and helps distract him from his… situation. 

 

He’s already had an Alpha bring him coffee and a bagel that he’s sure were meant for someone else, and another one try to push the cart filled with returned books for him. 

 

It made him abandon his post at the counter, leaving Kira to deal with patrons as he does a bit of reshelving.

 

It’s easy work and a bit mundane, what with all the walking he has to do between different sections, but he’s grateful for the reprieve it gives him.

 

Right until he gets interrupted rearranging the Recommended Reads shelf by someone clearing their throat behind him.  

 

He forces himself not to sigh and plasters on the most genuine smile he can manage, because no matter who the person is, they don’t deserve to deal with his moods, no matter how valid they are.

 

The weak little curve he manages gets even weaker when he notes that the man standing before him is, in fact, an Alpha.

 

He’s a professional though, and he knows better than to judge simply on the basis of an assumption. No matter how built the man might be, how blue his eyes or how angular his jaw, how deep the v of his shirt or how unbelievably thick his neck, it doesn’t mean he’s a jackass and after Stiles’ ass. 

So he holds the smile and asks, “How can I help you?”

 

“I was told you could help me find reference material on werewolves and their involvement with witches,” the man says, pleasantly surprising Stiles.

 

His smile gains energy immediately and he turns around, gesturing for the man to follow as he mentally forms a list of all the books that could be helpful. 

 

It’s an easy enough task since Stiles always had a thing for witches and that particular part of the lore. He’s rambling off little pieces of trivia he learned over the years as he plucks books from the shelves, one after another. He’s got a decent stack of them in his arms when he finally remembers the man he’s supposed to be helping.

 

He flashes him an apologetic smile and hands over the books.

 

“Ah, sorry about that, I tend to get a bit excited when someone asks for my help on topics like this.”

 

The man doesn’t seem bothered though, judging by the way he’s smirking at Stiles. He looks amused more than anything else. 

 

“No, don’t apologize,” the Alpha says, “It’s really refreshing to listen to someone really invested in the topic. And I’ve already learned a few things, too.”

 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. If you don’t have any other questions, I have to go back to work,” Stiles tells the man, genuinely pleased with how the conversation went. It’s always a nice feeling when his help is appreciated and he doesn’t get mocked for his enthusiasm.

 

“Actually,” the man starts to say and Stiles immediately perks up, excited to help. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me and get some coffee?”

 

Stiles feels his whole face shut down.

 

Of course he can’t have a normal interaction with an Alpha around the time of his heat during which he doesn’t get hit on. Maybe the man didn’t even really need his help in the first place and just wanted to get his attention.

 

Fuck it, he’s just had it with Alphas who were only ever interested in the pheromones his body releases, only ever thinking with their knots. And he had so much hope for this guy.

 

He sees the smile on the man’s face fade as he notices that Stiles is more than just annoyed.

 

“Look,” Stiles says, his voice firm and brooking no argument, “You look like a pretty reasonable and smart guy, so I’m going to be straight with you: I’m not looking for a heat partner or for an Alpha to mate with. I am absolutely not interested in sex. So you can just stop here and save yourself the effort of making up things you’d like to learn more about from me, because I don’t appreciate being lied to. Just drop the books, turn around and go, dude.”

 

The man looks quite taken aback by the end of Stiles’ tirade, but he can’t really make himself care. Damn it all to hell, he’s taking time off for the rest of his heat. 

 

“I’m not exactly sure what got your panties in a twist,” the Alpha tells him, his tone mild, and continues before Stiles can get a word in, “And I’m sorry if my proposition offended you in any way, but I wasn't lying about needing these books. A simple no would have been enough.”

 

Stiles frowns at the guy, because he didn’t expect for it to go down quite like that, but before he can even consider apologizing for being too harsh, the man is backing away with the books.

 

“Thank you for your help,” the Alpha says, giving Stiles a nod and a polite smile, and heads back to the front desk without another word. 

 

Stiles sighs and leans back against the bookcase behind him. This really isn’t his day.

 

\--

 

When the Alpha shows up again over a week later, Stiles can’t help but be wary. And a bit guilty, too. 

 

The man was polite and didn’t seem peeved by Stiles rambling, and any other day he’d be flattered to be asked out by someone like that. But any other day he wasn’t going through heat and dealing with hovering, insistent Alphas, so it wasn’t like he didn’t have a good reason to shut the man down. After all, he couldn’t have known that the man didn’t ask him out just because of the pheromones surrounding Stiles.

 

But he still felt bad for being so harsh.

 

So when the Alpha approaches the front desk with the books he borrowed, Stiles does his best to blend in with his surroundings. Avoidance is the way to go.

 

No such luck though, because the guy bypasses Isaac, who is finally at full health and back to work, with a polite smile, and heads straight for Stiles.

 

Stiles takes a deep breath, smiles, and stutters out an awkward, “Hello. ”

 

“Morning,” the man smirks back as he slides the books and his library card over to Stiles, the sadist. He’s clearly enjoying seeing Stiles so nervous. 

 

The Alpha, ‘Peter Hale’ his card says, even has the nerve to laugh when Stiles glares. 

 

Stiles takes his time scanning the books and making sure they came back whole, if only to spite Peter, and only when he’s done with all of them does he hand the card back.

 

“Can I help you with something else?” he chirps with fake-politeness. He may be expecting to be asked out again, maybe reprimanded for his behavior the last time they talked. 

 

What Peter does, however, is lean on the counter as he watches Stiles fidget under his insistent gaze.

 

“I was wondering if you guys have a copy of Ovid’s  _ Metamorphosis _ ,” his voice is silky-smooth and beckoning. A drawl that probably had many people fall right into his lap.

 

Stiles is way more interested in his book choice, though. He narrows his eyes at the man, then checks the computer to see in the system if the book is available.

 

“Give me a second, I’ll go get it for you,” he tells the guy once he confirms that the book is, in fact, waiting patiently on the shelf. 

 

“I’ll tag along, if you don’t mind,” he hears the man say, and he’s not exactly surprised.

 

They walk through the rows in silence, Stiles growing actually a bit agitated with being shadowed, but he keeps calm and finds the book in question in no time at all.

 

“Here you go,” he says as he hands over the book and watches in fascination as Peter skims through it, getting to the index and then looking back through it again. He seems to have found what he needed because he nods and snaps the book shut, thanks Stiles for his help.

 

“You’re really into that,” Stiles hears himself asking, not exactly sure where it’s coming from. 

 

Peter looks back up and considers him for a moment.

 

“Contrary to what you thought the first time I was here, I do actually have an interest in these topics.”

 

Stiles cringes a bit at the reminder.

 

“Yeah, about that,” he shuffles a bit, meets the man’s eyes. “I’m sorry for being so harsh with you the other day, I was having a pretty bad day with Alphas trying to get my pants off with good deeds left and right. And it doesn’t give me an excuse to snap at you and imply anything when we don’t even know each other, but I hope you’ll at least understand where I’m coming from.”

 

“I can’t say I don’t know how unwanted attention feels like,” the guy says with a faux-serious face, making Stiles groan inwardly. Who even says shit like that? “So I accept your apology.”

 

Stiles is half expecting Peter to suggest they get lunch or something so that Stiles can make it up to him for having been rude, but Peter just thanks him for the help and moves on to look through other sections, leaving Stiles completely thrown.

 

Huh.

 

\--

 

Peter keeps coming back for more. It’s not just witches and leprechauns, or any other critters that interest him. Quite a few times it’s fantasy novels, thrillers, a book on twelfth century European fashion. Either he has an avid interest in everything, or he’s an actual writer.

 

Whatever the reason for the man’s eclectic taste in literature, it means that Stiles sees him every few days, and between one book and another, he gets to know him a bit better. 

 

It’s like catching a glimpse, a trailer of the real thing. They don’t talk about their private lives at all, really. But every now and then Peter reveals a tiny little detail that allows Stiles to piece some things together.

 

Stiles really likes puzzles.

 

He learns that Peter is twelve years older than him when Stiles groans about his back aching from all the sitting one day and Peter says something about young people not knowing what exercise is. Learns that he’s moved here because he inherited some old family property in the Preserve when Stiles wonders why he’d never seen Peter around before, considering how much he seems to read. 

 

That Peter is a bit of an asshole, much like Stiles, and handles sarcasm like the sharpest blade. 

 

And, most importantly, that Peter is a fantastic cook with a love for all things bread, and that he enjoys feeding people and watching them moan like a whore at first bite. 

 

Or that’s the impression Stiles gets, at least. 

 

The first time he gets a sample of Peter’s baking skills is about a month after they first met. It’s around noon, which means lunchbreak, but Stiles got caught up cleaning dog puke that morning because Ein is a menace and scavenged something in the backyard giving himself a tummy ache, and completely forgot his lunch at home. To make things worse, his favorite cafe -- the one right across from the library, -- is closed today, so he can’t even buy his favorite raspberry muffins. 

 

It all makes for a very grumpy Stiles, with little to no patience for bullshit, and Peter walks in on him snapping at a dude refusing to pay the fine for an overdue book. 

 

“Someone’s in a mood,” Peter comments as he leans sideways against the counter, watching the guy leave the library after practically throwing money in Stiles’ face. 

 

“Don’t even start,” Stiles grumbles, massaging his temples to alleviate his headache. “I’m hungry and lost my favorite pair of Batman socks to dog vomit this morning. I really don’t feel like dealing with anyone’s crap today.”

 

Peter hums. “I guess you’re in luck then.”

 

“What?”

 

He watches Peter riffle through the messenger bag he has slung over his shoulder and pull out a tupperware container. As soon as he tugs it open Stiles gets a whiff of cheese and tomatoes, the heavenly smell making his stomach growl loudly.

 

Peter laughs at the sound. 

 

“Please tell me you’re not just teasing me and whatever it is you have there smelling like salvation is something you’re gonna share with me,” Stiles pleads, completely unashamed. 

 

He’s already up from his chair and leaning over the counter, hand outstretched towards the source of the smell. He only waits to see Peter nod and push the container closer towards Stiles before he’s pulling out a slice of bread, crispy on the outside but not burnt, and still warm.

 

He tears off a chunk and plops it into his mouth and the combination of what tastes like parmesan and sun-dried tomatoes has him moaning in pleasure. 

 

He doesn’t even have the shame to blush, too busy devouring the bread.

 

“Oh my god, this is  _ amazing.  _ Did you bake it yourself?”

 

Peter’s satisfied smirk is answer enough, really.

 

“Just trying out a new recipe,” the Alpha says, “Needed a guinea pig to check if it’s as good as I thought it’d be.”

 

“I don’t even care that you’re fishing for compliments,” Stiles tells him honestly, too busy stealing another slice from the container, “feel free to guinea pig me whenever you like.”

 

If anything else, Peter’s smirk widens at that, and he simply pushes the whole container into Stiles’ grabby hands.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

\--

 

Peter does indeed keep Stiles in mind as he starts coming in not only for books, but also to brighten Stiles’ life and fill his belly with a whole delicious variety of baked goods. 

 

Every few days he’ll drop by to bring Stiles something extra for his lunch and listen to him make ridiculous noises and compliment his skill. It’s not always bread either, because Peter obviously excels at cooking in general, and Stiles’ palate gets spoiled with dishes he’s never heard of or even considered trying before.

 

Somehow, Peter even convinces him to try cauliflower chowder on the basis that it’s “hearty and just right for the chilly weather, Stiles. I’ll bring you pie if you give this a try”. 

 

Stiles vehemently denies that it’s Peter’s eyes that make him do anything, Kira can shut up. Or his pleased little smirk. Or those eye wrinkles. It’s all because of the pie!

 

To be honest though, Stiles is quite taken with Peter. The man is smart and clever, his sense of humor is much like Stiles’. He always listens to what Stiles is saying, no matter what crazy rant he’s on,  _ actually _ listening, and contributing even. And he’s an incredible provider. 

 

He doesn’t hover like other Alphas do and Stiles really appreciates that. It’s quite a subtle, sweet courting that Stiles wholeheartedly enjoys and encourages.

 

Even when it almost kills him. 

 

The promised pie Peter brings him the next day smells so good that Stiles is salivating before he even gets his hands on a slice. It’s browned just right, topped with raisins and chopped nuts, and shining with honey. And Stiles sinks his teeth in it before he even considers asking what  _ kind  _ of nuts are in it.

 

He realizes his mistake as soon as his lips and tongue start tingling, and he forgets about how good it tastes almost immediately. 

 

“Are these Brazil nuts?” he asks on an inhale as his throat starts to swell and breathing becomes more of a challenge. 

 

He drops the slice on the counter, getting crumbs all over it, and spits the chunk he bit off into his hand and throws it in the bin at his desk. He doesn’t even look at Peter to see if he’s offended, because his mouth is already swelling and his breath is coming up short. 

 

“Stiles?” he hears Peter call, echoed by a much more alarmed call from Kira, but he’s busy riffling through his desk. Where the hell did he put it?!

 

In the end, Kira pushes him away and finds his epipen without much of a problem and grabs his arm to steady him as she leans down to stab him in his upper leg through the material of his jeans. 

 

Peter must have found his way behind the counter in the chaos because it’s him that helps Stiles sit down in a chair, and it’s his worried blue eyes he sees before he passes out. 

 

It’s these same eyes that are looking at him when he wakes up later in the hospital. 

 

Scott is there, too, together with Kira who probably called him, but neither of them looks half as concerned as Peter does.

 

It’s quite flattering, all things considered. 

 

Stiles’ mouth doesn’t feel all back to normal just yet, so he doubts he makes a pretty sight, but he squeezes the hand holding his.

 

“‘M fine,” he rasps, “All fine.”

 

\--

 

Peter is a bit more careful about feeding Stiles after that, but he doesn’t stop, for which Stiles is really grateful. He tends to forget to bring his own lunch on the days he knows Peter will be at the library and it would suck to go hungry the whole day because the Alpha is too worried about Stiles having an allergic reaction to his food.

 

He’s apologized for it at least twice already.

 

“I should have asked if you were allergic to anything beforehand,” he says the first day Stiles is back to work as he watches Stiles chomp happily on another parmesan and tomato bread. 

 

Stiles got a few days off to rest and recuperate, and according to Isaac and Kira, Peter has dropped by every day to ask about him and inquire when he’ll be back at the library.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes at the Alpha and catches his hand, squeezing it much like he did in the hospital.

 

“Don’t be dumb,” he admonishes, “You couldn’t have known. It’s my fault for not telling you about it.”

 

Somewhere off to the side, Isaac groans about them being nauseating. 

 

Stiles does, however, make eyes at Peter until he bakes him another pie, a classic cherry one. He thanks the Alpha with a kiss to his stubbled cheek and can’t stop grinning at the memory of Peter smiling at him softly for the rest of the week. 

 

\--

 

Stiles thinks that he should be worried about his relationship with Peter, that he should be afraid of getting in too deep. They’ve been hanging out a lot lately outside of the library, though Stiles probably ought to actually consider calling it dates. 

 

It starts pretty innocently with Stiles demanding that he treats Peter to something, too, for once, and dragging him to the cafe across the street. He’s a bit anxious about whether Peter will like his favorite muffins, he can’t lie about that. Just as he can’t lie about watching Peter’s reaction to the pastry like a hawk and getting distracted by the way the Alpha licks his lips.

 

Peter has a very nice, kissable mouth, and Stiles may not want to have sex with him, but he’d love to get to learn how Peter tastes. He thinks Peter’s lips would be soft against his, that he’d taste like dark chocolate, or coffee. He thinks that, although they’re about the same height, he’d be able to hide in Peter. That he’d be safe and at home in those arms, Peter’s thick neck looking perfect for nuzzling and pressing his face there, getting his scent all over.

 

He’s so lost daydreaming that it takes Peter flicking his nose to bring him back to the present.

 

“Everything alright?” Peter asks with a smirk, like he has an idea what Stiles is thinking about, but Stiles doubts he’d get it right. 

 

Because what Stiles sees in Peter is comfort, someone that keeps Stiles on his toes, that doesn’t mind he’s a sarcastic asshole and is an asshole right back. Because Peter means so much more to him than the attractive body he wears, than the Alpha pheromones, than heats and matings.

 

Because Stiles is halfway in love with him and a lot scared.

 

“Stiles?” Peter asks again, but he’s not smirking anymore. There’s concern in his eyes and a frown on his brow and muffin crumbs in the right corner of his mouth. 

 

Stiles can’t be much worried about what the future will bring when Peter is here with him, indulging him, not deterred by Stiles’ crazy rants and obscure interests, always coming back with food to feed him, with a topic to discuss. 

 

He chuckles, can’t help it, drops his face to look at the table. When he looks back at Peter again, the man has his head tilted and looks a bit baffled. Coupled with the crumbs still stuck to his lips it makes a truly endearing sight.

 

So Stiles leans forward, bracing one hand on Peter’s forearm, and kisses the lingering crumbs away.

 

He’s still smiling when he sits back properly, his hand caught in Peter’s own and held still. The Alpha is laughing at him silently, shaking his head like he thinks Stiles is ridiculous.

 

But Stiles doesn’t care because he wants to try. He wants to fall head first for this sweet bastard, who he thinks may be a little bit in love with him as well.

 

\--

 

Peter and Ein fall in love at first sight. Stiles swears they ran to each other in slow motion, puffs of candy pink clouds and a rainbow appearing out of nowhere, and  _ Never Gonna Give You Up _ playing in the distance. There’s a running leap involved and all. 

 

Peter is too busy doling out ear scritches and tummy rubs to deny it. 

 

The three of them go for walks on Sunday afternoons, Peter holding Ein’s leash, Stiles holding Peter’s hand. They throw sticks for the corgi to catch, but he’s hardly ever interested in going after them, likes butterflies better. It makes Stiles giddy, enjoying the sun with those two, wrapping his arms around them both later that day when they pile on the couch. 

 

Stiles likes how warm Peter is to the touch, how they fit together, how Peter kisses him on the cheek in greeting or sweetly on the lips, just because. He likes that Peter still makes him lunch and comes to get more books, and that he enjoys it when Stiles cooks him dinner, when they sit together and read. He likes the way they bicker and argue over small things, likes the way they each have their own mug at the other’s place and that there’s always a snack for Ein at Peter’s.

 

He loves the hands that feed him and hold him dear, the eyes that twinkle with mirth and look fondly at Stiles as he loudly explains inaccuracies in zombie movies. He loves the mouth that kisses him lazy and soft when they bid each other goodnight, or short and demanding to shut him up. Loves the way they always gravitate together to touch.

 

But most of all he loves that Peter lets him set the pace. 

 

He’s still scared though, maybe even more now than he was before, scared that this perfect little bubble won’t last forever, that Peter will get bored and ask for more. And that he’ll give in. 

 

He considers it. Makes a list of pros and cons of just letting Peter have his way because above all else, Stiles doesn’t want to lose him. He worries that telling Peter no will make the Alpha hate him in time. That Peter, too, will think that Stiles is broken, that he’s pitiful. 

 

That he’s all wrong.

 

He does his best not to think about it, chases the thoughts away by burying closer into Peter’s side, by hanging onto him like his life depends on it. He knows that Peter notices it, he’s too smart not to, but Stiles relishes in the concern and does his best to believe that he’s wrong. That he won’t be abandoned for being different.

 

Stiles has never felt so damaged before.

 

\--

 

Which is of course why his next heat comes on early again.

 

\--

 

He’s glad that it’s at least Saturday this time around and he doesn’t even have to get out of bed for any other reason than catering to Ein’s needs. But as mild as his heat is, with him only being hard and a bit wet, sweating through his tee, he feels a lot more miserable than ever before. 

 

He never  _ had _ someone he could spend his heat with before. It didn’t bother him at all, he prefered it that way after all. But there’s Peter now, his  _ boyfriend, _ who is an Alpha and will undoubtedly smell the pheromones on him. 

 

It took them half a year to get here after Stiles rejected him during his last heat, and his chest aches with the thought that they came a full circle. That this time, when he tells Peter no, he won’t see him again.

 

His chest  _ aches _ with it. 

 

He thought he could do it, thought  _ they  _ could do it it, get it over with and done. Shuck their pants, pop a knot, do the rodeo in half a year again. He still thinks they can try, he could--

 

He chokes on the thought and buries his face in his pillow, silently prays for it to go away. 

 

Ein is there soon enough, snuffling at his ear and licking what he can of Stiles’ face. Like he can hear the tears that Stiles won’t allow to fall. 

 

The corgi stays in bed with Stiles, cuddled right against his side and not minding at all when Stiles hides his face in his fur. All he does is bat his paws as he dreams, and fart occasionally, until his owner is laughing helplessly into his neck. 

 

Stiles has never been more thankful for his chubby little dog.

 

It’s also Ein that wakes him up later in the day, whining at him until he pushes himself to sit up in bed. He feels groggy and completely disgusting. He’s considering a shower and some take out after he lets Ein out the backdoor so he can take care of his business when the doorbell rings, alerting him to the real reason the corgi woke him.

 

He thinks about not answering the door and leaving whoever it is hanging, but he doesn’t know that many people that would bother him during the weekend and he’s trudging down the stairs before he realizes it.

 

He twists the lock and turns the knob, and in the next moment Peter is pushing past him, kissing Stiles’ brow on his way in. 

 

“I know it’s Saturday,” the Alpha says as he hangs his coat and toes off his shoes, heads straight for the kitchen, “But it’s four in the afternoon and you look like I just woke you up. Have you even eaten anything today?”

 

Stiles follows after him, watches him amble around the kitchen like it’s his own. He looks at home in Stiles’ space, riffling through a cupboard to get a plate and popping the kettle on as he sets up their mugs for tea.

 

He even bends down to pick Ein up for cuddles, letting the dog lick at his face, completely unaware that Stiles is about to break. 

 

Stiles has to lean back against the wall before he splits right open. He covers his eyes with one hand, the other one wrapped around his middle, and takes a moment to breathe.

 

He doesn’t want what he has with Peter to just end. He won’t be able to handle it, not with the way Peter dug his way under his skin. He’s saturated with his affection, to a point where he sometimes forgets how he smelled on his own. He learned to walk on the left side when they’re out, for fuck’s sake, only because Peter prefers to be on the right! He can’t imagine how it’ll be to relearn to be on his own!

 

“Do you want me to go?” Peter asks and Stiles is drawn to look at him, always drawn to him, even when his voice isn’t feather-soft like he’s afraid of spooking Stiles.

 

When Stiles drops his hand away though, his breath catches in his chest on a new wave of panic, because Peter is holding a loaf of sourdough bread.

 

Stiles has listened to Peter talk about baking and all the kinds of bread for hours, enjoyed how enthusiastic the Alpha is on the topic, and researched it himself because he wanted to know more. He  _ knows _ how special it is, the old recipe Peter has only ever tried twice because it takes so much time to make and Peter only bothers for special occasions and nothing less. 

 

It’s basically the bread equivalent of an engagement ring and Stiles reaches for it with tears in his eyes. Peter hands it over, but Stiles is too busy looking at the perfectly browned crust to check what kind of expression he’s wearing. 

 

This is it, he thinks as he cradles the bread to his chest, his heart beating so hard it’s about to explode. He can’t have sex with Peter, not like this, not when it’s something that will be one-way and will end up tearing them apart. He can’t do it, they’re both in too deep and he can’t hurt Peter like that.

 

He can’t. 

 

“I can’t have sex with you,” he blurts out, still avoiding Peter’s eyes, “I don’t want to have sex with you. Or anyone. Ever. I thought I could do it for you because I’m in lo-- because I care for you so much and I don’t want you to get bored of me. But the very thought of fucking makes me queasy even though I know my phermones may be driving you crazy and make you think that it’s otherwise. But I can’t. I’m sorry, so sorry. I can’t.” 

 

Tears are running down his face by the end of it, fat drops hanging off his chin before they drop down onto the bread he’s still cradling, and just looking at it makes his breath hitch. 

 

He knows he should look at Peter, meet his gaze and hear whatever hateful words and accusations are to come. He knows, but he’s too much of a coward in this moment and saying all that cost him all the courage he had.

 

But then he hears Peter come closer and he wants to back away, but there’s a wall behind him and nowhere to go. He’s trapped and Peter’s nimble fingers are prying the bread from his hands, and he has to make a conscious effort not to sob. 

 

He doesn’t check to see what Peter does with the loaf, still refuses to look at the man, but then Peter snorts and Stiles’ head snaps up.

 

And Peter is looking at Stiles like he’s an idiot. 

 

He cups Stiles’ hands in his palms, his skin so blissfully warm, wipes the tears away with the pads off his thumbs. 

 

“I would have thought you’d know me better after all this time,” Peter tells him, sounding fond and not even mildly offended, “I’m a bit hurt by your assumption; I’d never leave you just because you don’t want to have sex. I heard you the very first time you said it when we first met, and I’m still here. Honestly,” he leans in to kiss Stiles chastely, nip meanly at his lower lip, “I have no idea why I love you at all.”

 

“You-- What?” Stiles flounders, hands flailing about until he settles for holding onto Peter’s wrists. “You’re really okay with this?”

 

“There’s no point to sex if you’re not enjoying it,” Peter explains seriously, but his face is soft, the corners of his lips twisted up into a gentle smile, “If you ever want to try we’ll give it a shot, but I’ll never force you and I don’t want you thinking that just because we’re together you’re obliged to bend over for me. That’s not how this works.”

 

Stiles licks his lips, his chest feeling wide open and about to burst for a completely different reason.

 

“Are you--?”

 

Peter kisses him again before he can finish the question.

 

“If you ask me if I’m sure, I’ll leave right now and won’t bake you banana bread for a month. Are we clear?”

 

“Yes,” Stiles says on a breath, feeling dizzy with relief. “Yes,” he repeats throwing his arms around Peter and pushing forwards until Peter’s cradling him close. “Yes,” he murmurs into the curve of Peter’s neck, closing his eyes tightly to hold back tears.

 

They stay like that for a long moment, Peter holding Stiles close, his hands swooping over Stiles’ back in slow, relaxing circles. Ein sits at their feet, occasionally nipping at Stiles’ bare toes. 

 

After what feels like hours, Peter leans back enough to kiss Stiles’ temple.

 

“Now that the crisis is over, I actually came over because I’ve been meaning to watch  _ Game of Thrones _ for a while to see what the hype was about, but didn't feel like doing it on my own,” he waits for Stiles to look at him before asking, “Unless you want to spend some time alone?”

 

Stiles is pretty sure that his answering grin could power up at least a small country.

  
  



End file.
